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Bloody Shambles

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Pale Fire: A Poem in Four Cantos by John Shade
Vladimir Nabokov, Brian Boyd
Pale Fire
Vladimir Nabokov
Lords of Chaos: The Bloody Rise of the Satanic Metal Underground New Edition
Michael Moynihan, Didrik Søderlind
Under Stones
Bob Franklin
The Erotic Potential of My Wife
David Foenkinos, Yasmine Gaspard
A Corner of White
Jaclyn Moriarty
Winter's Bone
Daniel Woodrell
Progress: 99 %
Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders
Neil Gaiman
The Beetle
Richard Marsh
Wreck This Journal
Keri Smith
Light Boxes - Shane Jones I can't resist a surrealist fairytale. And it doesn't get any more surreal than the death of flight, brought on by an endless personified winter who lives in the clouds with a girl who smells of honey and smoke, torturing the folk of a small town while kidnapping its children. Obviously this can only result in a war against February.. Jones writes beautifully, and presents his story through a series of short notes written by the various characters... or possibly by February.... or by the author, who is Shane Jones... or, come to think of it, possibly actually February's wife.... Ahh metafiction.Anyway, I was seduced by pages such as this: Short List Found in February’s Back Pocket1. I’ve done everything I can.2. I need to know you won’t leave.3. I wrote a story to show love and it turned to war. How awful.4. I twisted myself around stars and poked the moon where the moon couldn’t reach.5. I’m the kind of person who kidnaps children and takes flight away.Then when Jones drops some graphically violent or otherwise horrifying detail into the mix, it feels like a stone being dropped into the pit of your stomach. Observe: To watch the way those horses died. To have felt the waves of their muscles contracting and shaking under that skin of mushy green. It was too much for me......I went back to where the horses were. I knelt down in the cold snow freckled green. I peeled the moss away from their bodies. Their eyes had burst and their tongues were hanging out. Their necks were ropes of muscle and wet moss from the snow that now looked like green foam..What is strange (well, what isn't? But that's not the point) is that I wavered between adoring this book and finding it terribly pretentious. I did wonder in parts whether all the metaphors really did carry through consistently. I also wondered if some parts weren't simply gratuitous but meaningless, albeit very stylish. For example, take February's list above. Everything there represents a legitimate part of the story, except possibly for Point 4, which sounds great, but doesn't really mean anything. That said, I did have to put the book down and come back to it very many times, which wasn't the ideal way to read a book like this. And today, as I write this review, I adored the book. So it gets five stars. And a wolf ripping it's own stomach open.**Teehee. Just accidentally typed "soiler" instead of "spoiler". The former may have been more appropriate..